


The Way You Look At Me

by StygianSea



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StygianSea/pseuds/StygianSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their eyes meet, it's like a clash of forest on sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Look At Me

John’s eyes are like an emerald stuck in the ground, cracked and caked with mud.

Dorian frowns when he sees them. He doesn’t remember seeing eyes like them the last time he was awake – never before was there a pair so closed off, so sullen, so withdrawn.

He makes a point of looking John in the eye. Catches and holds John’s gaze when he can – notices how the other man squirms, itching to get away – trying to identify exactly what it is that made the light go out in John’s eyes. He tries the incident with Pelham, the betrayal of his girlfriend, the so-called “injustice” of his synthetic leg; but Dorian starts to think that it’s not any one thing that’s broken him. Perhaps it’s all just the culmination of a series of unfortunate events.

But what Dorian does see, peeking out through the cracks in his shell, are the dying embers of a fire – an aggression that lights up when Dorian comes at him, hitting him with a sarcastic remark. He learns that John will always rise to the challenge, won’t back down from anything or anyone. So Dorian makes it his personal goal in life to keep that fire from dying out.

And Dorian blows when he can, fanning the flames, because he likes the way it makes the green shine through, like light glinting off the surface of a precious stone.

* * *

Dorian’s eyes are deep as the ocean.

It’s a quality that John doesn’t expect – he’s a fucking _synthetic_ , for Christ’s sake – but he can’t admit that there’s something hidden behind those eyes, a fact that unnerves him every time he notices it.

So he tries his best to avoid the synthetic’s gaze. He doesn’t like the way he gets lost in those orbs – like John’s searching for something, some semblance of the bot’s humanity, or maybe some proof that he – _it_ – is, in fact, not human. Because it’s getting harder for John to remember that.

It’s just… it’s the _look_.It’s the look that comes over Dorian’s face when he gets all goddamn philosophical – when he starts thinking about death and life and being remembered, and humans. It’s the look he gets when he connects with someone – _really_ connects with someone, the way only humans can. Or should, anyway.

Because he’s a _synthetic_ , dammit. He’s an imitation. Artificial. Man-made. A fake. There’s nothing real about him. Just a pile of silicon and carbon fiber.

(But John is 18% carbon himself… And really, he can’t deny it: there’s nothing fake about those eyes…)

* * *

John’s eyes are dark as the beer he drinks at night.

He sits in the same spot, in the same bar, with the same bottle of beer clutched in the same hand. The condensation rolls down the brown bottle, green light filtering through the glass.

Dorian sits and watches him. He’s told John before that he doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink – but that didn’t stop the constant string of invitations to come and watch the other man get piss drunk. And Dorian honestly doesn’t mind; when the alcohol has loosened his tongue, the light starts coming back to John’s eyes… It’s dull, perhaps, and sometimes they may be shining with tears. But at least they’re shining.

Sometimes John talks a lot, and the secrets come rolling off his tongue in a lazy slur. Sometimes he doesn’t talk at all, but he still lets things slip, even if he doesn’t speak. Because when he’s drunk, John, for some reason, doesn’t mind holding Dorian’s gaze. He looks him head on, holds it steady, and Dorian reads him like an open book.

They never talk about it in the morning, and John goes back to hiding behind his sarcastic remarks. But with each passing day, Dorian can see the breaking of the façade, the artificial disguise slowly fading away.

* * *

Dorian’s eyes are bright like lightning.

When they flash, they can strike John down in an instant.

It usually happens when John uses that word he doesn’t like – it’s not like he hasn’t tried to erase it from his vocabulary, but can’t he at least get a fucking break? Sometimes things slip out, ya know.

But when he thinks about it, John’s actually kind of unsettled at how little he uses the word anymore… So he tries not to think about it.

He tries not to think about how he aggressively defends Dorian against anything or anyone that tries to cause him harm – least of all that dick (Richard, he corrects himself). He tries not to think about how he actively avoids those terms Dorian hates – since when did he start using the words “person” and “him” to describe the… android?

Most of all, he tries not to think about _why_ he does all this: the pang of – something he can’t name – that pierces his chest when he sees that spark go up behind Dorian’s eyes. Or the feeling of – _what_ , exactly? – that slices through him when Dorian is shot and injured and John can see that same lightning spilling out of holes that shouldn’t be there. (It’s breathtaking and uncanny, when it happens; that light falling out of him, flickering around gaping wounds, like something inside of him is trying to come bursting out.)

But why should it bother him at all, what he sees in Dorian’s eyes? They may be the window to the soul, but (he has to remind himself) Dorian doesn’t have one of those.

(Then again, John doesn’t really think he has one either…)

* * *

John’s eyes are like mint chocolate.

Rudy takes Dorian out to indulge him one cool Saturday afternoon, and Dorian can’t help that John is what he thinks of when he firsts tastes the delicious dessert.

Because it is so _like_ him – it has this amazing ability to be both hot and cold, and still there is an undeniable richness hidden in the lingering aftertaste. A sweetness that can’t be escaped.

John is sweet, when he wants to be. Dorian learns this early on. He can see it in John’s eyes. The look John gets when he won’t let Dorian rush into the middle of a firefight, because he doesn’t have a chest plate. The look John gets when Dorian scurries up an elevator shaft to save the day. The look John has when he calls Dorian his coffee warmer. The look John has, on the day he wakes him up.

_You were that person for me, John._

“Well, we all make mistakes,” John had said, but Dorian smiled anyway, because underneath it all, he knows better. Because – when he looked closely enough – he could _see_ it, that cold front disturbed by warm winds. There’s a sweetness in the air that day.

Rudy, who’s caught his grin, asks Dorian what he’s smiling about.

But the DRN simply shakes his head and raises another spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream to his lips. He won’t tell anyone how sweet John can be. The mortification alone would be enough to kill him.

* * *

Dorian’s eyes shine like sapphires.

John can see them sparkle sometimes. Okay, _most_ of the time – but dammit if there’s a time Dorian’s eyes _aren’t_ sparkling for some reason (well, except when he’s chewing John out… but even then, John can see this maniacal glint, like Dorian’s _enjoying_ tearing him a new one).

They’re especially lively when they’re bantering back and forth; on long drives through the city, to and from the precinct, or to nowhere in particular. John glances over periodically, trying to connect (that instinctive, undeniably _human_ need for connection), trying to establish eye contact, and if he were paying attention, wouldn’t he notice how far he’s come since the moment the DRN first opened his eyes?

John looks over at him in the car, and Dorian’s staring back at him, and for some goddamn reason John’s lungs decide to go on strike at that very moment and his breath stops flowing, stuck somewhere deep in his throat, and he doesn’t think it’ll come back any time soon.

This happens every now and then – John looks at Dorian, at those striking pools of blue set so perfectly in a flawlessly sculpted face, and his heart will stop. Or skip a beat. Or flutter. Whatever it is they call it these days.

And while John’s busy being mesmerized, Dorian’s figuring him out – and he _knows_ it. He can see the way Dorian’s eyes narrow for just a fraction of a second, his mouth twitching in that _infuriating_ smirk of his, and John thinks Dorian might know what’s up (and if he does, can he _please_ tell him? because John has _no_ fucking clue what’s going on). It makes him uncomfortable, what that look might suggest, so he looks away, at the dashboard, back at the road, anywhere but at the eyes of the man sitting next to him, willing his lungs to start breathing again and refusing to let the flush creep across his skin.

But the image is burned into his mind (an admittedly welcome addition to all the other sights he can’t get out of his head). Dorian, bright eyes twinkling, crinkled at the corners, lips twitched up; and in those moments, John thinks that he looks almost… human.

* * *

John’s eyes are greenish-brown.

Dorian’s eyes are bright blue.

When they meet, it’s like a clash of forest on sky.

Like the horizon, with one bleeding swiftly into the other.

They lock gazes over an expanse of tangled bodies, breath coming fast like the winds of a hurricane, eyes roaring like the rain-whipped trees in the midst of a storm.

The whole world is stretched out between them, and John still can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Dorian, for his part, has no desire to differentiate their bodies. He keeps his eyes trained on John’s, filling the cracks of those emerald gems; and John lets him in, and doesn’t back down, and gives Dorian a piece of his soul.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://stygiansea.tumblr.com/), come say hi!!


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